(Reader/Your OC Insert) You lied about your entire life in order to join the American Military, and play a part in the succession of D-Day. So there you were, part of a special task force for women and men, ready to drop from a plane into Paris with your best friend: you were a spies. You were the Ears On The Inside. You were two of the few telegraphers in Paris. Your parachute also failed you on the way down, and sent you tumbling into a large forest, not a half kilometer from an enemy base. All seemed to be lost until a kind (not to mention handsome) Frenchman found you.... (AU, WW2, 2nd Person)

I’ll warn you. In this fic, France is a little OOC....or...well, I don’t know.....maybe? France-As-A-Country would be out of character....but in this tale, he is France-As-A-Person....soo......yeah. During WW2, many, many people were brave, and risked their lives for their families and friends, rebelling against having their country controlled.

Anyways, this, mes amis, is based off a true story. I have (obviously) made up a few things in here, but as a general tale, it happened.During World War two, my Great Grandmother was a female spy who was dropped off in France with a good friend of hers. She lied about her age to get in, so she was only seventeen. Her story wasn’t quite as romantic as this one, even though she did have a small affair with a man by the name of Jacques.

Unfortunately, a few months before D-Day, he was shot and killed by a Nazi officer.Great Grandmother wasn’t a telegrapher, but her best friend was.Again, unfortunately, he best friend’s name was added to the list of casualties during the war.So.....I’m taking a bit of pride writing this. And please enjoy the little story~

Your heart was pounding, but oddly enough it wasn’t because your legs were dangling out the bottom of a plane into thin air. That was giving you a bit of a sick thrill. It was why you were about to jump out of an aircraft that was making your heart race.

Your name was ______, you turned seventeen a month ago, your family was probably worried sick about you... luckily, the men wrote you up and trained you didn’t know that. To them, and to everyone else, you were __(fake name)__. Twenty three years old and orphaned since age thirteen. You’d learnt to shoot a gun and stay silent as the night because that was how you’d needed to ‘survive on the streets’.

In truth, you’d hunted a lot with your father when you were younger: your aim with a shotgun was better than fair.

“Are you scared?” Your best friend, Alice, asked from beside you. Her long, blond hair had been tied up and tucked into a skullcap, making her look more like a smaller man than a regular-sized woman.

“Not for the jump.” You admitted quietly, barely audible over the deafening buzz of the propellers and engines. “I’m a little nervous about being on the ground. Once we’re down there, there’s no turning back....we’ll be spies in Paris, out to assist the succession of D-Day and the Liberation of France.” You shivered involuntarily. “We’re two of the few telegraphers who’ll be in the city with us. We’re playing a big part in winning this war.”

Alice hummed a classic tune from her homeland, a sad smile sitting on her face. “It’s a war, ______(This is your fake name until otherwise specified).... no one really wins. We’re just out to free a country from inhumane grasps.” You sighed and took a hold of her pale hand, squeezing lightly, looking for any sort of reassurance.

“I’ll see you in Paris.” Alice winked before falling out of the plane. You wished you could jump next. You wished you could stay beside her. You wished you’d land seconds after her, instead of having to be alone for the whole night before meeting her in the city the next day. But you knew your formation, and you were the last person into the air.

“______!”

You glanced up at the sound of your name, your boss-of-sorts staring at your seriously. He knelt down beside you and laid a hand on your shoulder, shoving a belt-pouch into your hands. You stared at it in confusion, recognizing the small holder of a shotgun. “Only use it if you have to.” You were ordered. “You’re going to hit the ground farthest from Paris, and all your supplies are in the safe house, aside from the radio that the Kirkland girl is carrying.” You nodded in understanding, before moving around and slowly gliding into thin air.

The oxygen seemed to leave your lungs all at once, forcefully sucked out. Or perhaps it was just a physical illusion, seeming so for the first four seconds because it felt like you were floating in midair. You never expected such a thing. You’d never actually jumped from a flying, moving aeroplane before.

‘Calm down, ______.’ You told yourself in your head. ‘You know where to go. You’re not alone...you’ll see Ali tomorrow, and she’ll scold you for using her nickname. You’ll meet up with your other comrades. You’ll have breakfast, and you’ll look around the town...’ But as soon as you pulled the cord to your parachute, that entire fantasy was ripped away.

For the chute did not emerge.

“Shit!” You hissed through your fear-clenched teeth, trying to gather up the pieces of your jumbled mind. You pulled the string again, to no avail. You were still in the safe zone....so....it didn’t matter if the chute didn’t pop out. Not yet at least.

‘Just don’t use the backup chute.’ You reminded yourself. ‘Unless it is absolutely necessary. It’s white, unlike your first means of landing. It’s won’t blend in with the night sky.’ You were, however, nearing the point of no return quite quickly, so you briskly pulled the rope again.... and your mother was correct. The third time was always the charm.

The chute made a fabric-y unfolding noise, and your downwards path suddenly slowed... until you violently spiraled off course when a gust of wind hit.

Your entire body snapped sideways, giving your neck something to complain about, and you were fairly certain that you’d bitten your lip: otherwise there would be no irony taste in your mouth.

Then the worst happened.

One of the ropes that held you attached to the parachute, and away from certain death, broke. Came undone. You didn’t care what had happened –it was no longer connected to you, and you were swinging around dizzyingly and dangerously, getting closer to the much-dreaded treetops you weren’t supposed to fall into. Further and further from civilization.

You didn’t care if you died; you had to let go of the parachute before it got you stuck somewhere you’d get caught.

You thought for less than a second and pulled a small, sharp knife from a tiny scabbard on your calf. You sliced through two of the three remaining ropes, though the last one –since the chute had not structure anymore- left you plummeting to the earth, the wind whipping in your ears.

You cut the last string, accidentally nicking yourself on the shoulder, but it didn’t matter. You were less than ten feet from the top of the forest. You didn’t have to worry about jarring the wound by yanking out another chute, at least.

Tawdrily, you crackled down into the magnificent woods, acquiring aplenty scratches, bruises and more than likely a broken arm.....then you slipped into a deep, lazily-flowing river with a splash, stunning yourself.

Stunned. That was good, right? You were....still alive? Yes...good, good. Your body was throbbing all over, but it wasn’t horrendously painful to swim to the slender shoreline and lay there, breathing hard. Probably gaining a few leeches on your exposed ankles and wrists.

You still felt like hell, though.

Your head and neck were aching from being pressed sideways so suddenly... a pulled muscle, perhaps.

Your arm was definitely fractured, though, as it was the wound causing you the most grief.

Your shoulder was bleeding heavily.

And...blood from some unknown wound was dripping into your eye. ‘There’s an enemy base near to where you’ll be perching.’ you recalled the lesson you received as you were headed into the air a few hours previous. ‘You’re landing on the East side of the forest, in a small field. The bad territory is to the west, a kilometer and a half.’

“They saw me...” You whispered to no one. “How could they not?” And soon there would be German troops upon you. You. In your American uniform. They’d know right away that you were there to assist the resistance. You’d be put to death...or....or tortured for answers. Then killed after you did or did not give them.

A tear ran down your cheek and you flinched when a stick cracked over to your left. ‘Play dead, ______. Maybe they’ll leave you, and think you not worthy to bury or burn. To them, you’re scum, and what better way for scum to die than to be picked off by wild animals?’ You paused your thought, holding your breath. ‘I left home to fly, and suddenly I’m going to die. I can’t even say I tried.’ But no harsh words in German or any other language met your ears.

No. Instead, a pair of slightly-rough hands gently met your cheeks, stroking your skin with what you guessed was a thumb.

“Madame...”

French. Perfect French. Unmarred by a thick German accent, or even a slight one.

You risked opening an (e/c) eye, only to meet the clearest blue orbs you’d ever seen.

The man smiled.

“Bonjour, Madame.”

Hello, Miss.

He was very French.

“Je m'appelle Francois.”

My name is Francis.

He pressed a hand over the gash on your forehead, making you gasp in pain. It hadn’t really been noticeable earlier....but now there was pressure upon it, it hurt... “Je suis desolé.”

He wasn’t an enemy.

“Et toi?”

You? Sorry....for what? Did you do something bad?....other than sneak into a foreign country to do supposedly illegal things, working against the favour of Nazi France....

“______...” he repeated, still stroking your cheek when you started slipping into unconsciousness.

<>

Quick Author’s note....THIS IS IMPORTANT.Dialogue “Like this” will only be found when there is French being spoken in French-form. Since the story is set in France, there will be lots of French, BUT I don’t want everyone to be like ‘wtf I can’t understand this!’.

SO. Listen up.

If there are words in these --> “Example”...then it will be in French.

However, if there are words like this --> <>....then it is Reader-Tan (and other characters) speaking French. I have simply written it in English so that you all understand.

Okay?

And if there are English words like this --> “Example” then it’s just English being spoken.Capeesh? Comment if you need more clearance.